


Hiding

by daisybrien



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Doubt, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Inner Dialogue, Just Married, Marriage, Other, Post-Wedding, Relationship(s), Romance, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Self-Doubt, Tragic Romance, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew there was more to him, more for him to show her now that they were married, although no one knew, even after the few glimpses of Erwin’s weakness he had offered to her in the late hours of the night. She would find it, push him to the very limits until he cracked under the weight of his shield, bursting open for her, and she would accept each tiny piece of shrapnel that would impale her, burn at her skin. But it will hurt, burn like fire and weigh like lead over her shoulders, but how it will hurt will still be her challenge to find out, one that she feels she is following with more reckless abandon than her better judgment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hiding

Hange wakes before the morning plans to greet her, restless limbs and buzzing mind pulling her from a shallow sleep that brought nothing but the sweat and crust caked on her face, the inklings of a migraine pricking behind her eyes. Her muscles ache, weak from the early morning grogginess, leaving her to lie in bed to count the bumps on the stucco ceiling. Something flutters against her shoulder, Erwin’s morning breath the softest of breezes against her skin. He lies beside her, his brow furrowed in thought even in his sleep, peace never seeming to find him even in the few moments of rest the two of them can manage. She raises a hand, tentatively brushing the curve of his cheek before settling back into the sheets, trying and failing to grasp at the last dregs of rest she can muster. 

The first rays of light begin to drift in through the thin curtains of his window, the morning dawning tired and dreary, almost resentful of it having to receive them. She gives up on sleep now, groaning as she sits herself up on the mattress. She wipes the sleep from her eyes, brushes the hair from her face as she grabs her glasses from the nightstand, regretfully rising from the bed to face what she expects to be an agonizingly long day. 

It takes her a while to wade through the mess littering the floor, searching through tangled clothing, too messy to have been left there by anyone but her, sifting through the loose scribbled papers from days and weeks gone by. Erwin’s handwriting is scrawled across it, underlined and scratched out, squished inside the margins of formation charts, tossed away in a crumpled knot of frustration. She passes through on tiptoe, the creaking of the floorboards under her feet making her look back at the bed hesitantly, cringing at the clank of a belt buckle or the crinkle of paper against her ankle.

She finally finds her own clothes in the mess, a sad lump by the corner of the room. She leans down to grab the pile, sniffing the pits of her sleeves before realizing she would have nothing else to wear without running through the barracks in her underwear. Her jeans slip on tight around her legs; they’re her good ones, she notes, still too new to have accumulated the usual stains and pulls in the fabric, although it was only a matter of time before she wears them in, gets to watch them fade under her wrath.

There were no other clothes from last night to dig through, no fancy blazers or flowing dresses torn off and tossed over furniture in their frantic need to be skin to skin the night before. The ceremony had been too simple for their own good, the two standing side by side in nothing but standard uniform, with no opportunity to have celebrated what would have been a joyous occasion to most others; anyone outside their affair would have thought the day was just like any other.

She slips on her jacket grudgingly, only to shrug it off, too hot for the room’s stuffiness. She slumps into Erwin’s desk chair, sitting back. She blows a hard breath through pursed lips, watches as some loose sheets fly off the tops of the immaculate, towering piles of paperwork on his desk. These were not as messy as those on the floor, his handwriting a neat, twirling scrawl characteristic of a nobleman. The scribbled and rushed chicken scratch of his actual, private notes, written out in frantic thoughts and blooming ideas, zigzagging across the pages like blueprint were no where to be seen, hidden under the guise of composure and professionalism he had learned to master.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, leg bouncing as she clicks her tongue at it; he was always hiding himself, always putting up a front, his act of being the impeccable, commandeering leader almost real. He had let it grown cold around him, frozen to brittle stone, blocking out the few who tried to dig in, discover the preciousness of the true feelings and grief of the vulnerable man underneath, no doubt precious and rare, a gemstone under the pressure of humanity’s fate. The solid lines of cursive was only a single pebble of the walls he had put up, something so insignificant yet so glaringly obvious to her as another front he had put up to keep his strength from crumbling; she was nothing if not perceptive, her eye hungry for detail, and would rather choose nothing over being discerning of her own love’s downfall.

Something glints in the crevices of the mountains of paperwork, the smallest twinkle of light flashing in the corner of her eye. She shifts to the flat part of the desk, still messy, but empty enough to keep pens stacked neat and organized, enough space to give him just a sliver of room to work on. One hand brushes off the surface of the mess, papers flying to reveal the two shiny rings huddling together as if frightened in the chaos.

She plucks one from the desk, holding it up to her eyes with thumb and forefinger, face scrunching it as she peruses it with a deep concentration. Its no more than a dull brass, inexpensive and bare of any precious gems or stones – although many of the wedded in the walls were as poor as they were, only those in Sina allowed the privilege to flaunt the glittering jewels placed on fingers from lavish ceremonies – the metal polished to a bright shine in an illusion that the metal were worth more than it actually was. She slips it on her left hand, pursing her lips when it hangs off loosely, trading it for the one she had left my its lonesome on the table.

She raises her hand above her, the ring snug against her knuckle, lackluster in the absence of the morning’s sunlight. She clenches the hand into a fist, letting it flop to her side as she’s left to stare at the ceiling, her heart squeezed by the hands of love and fear as they try to tear her into two different directions. She fears of what this new commitment will bring, the implications brought forward in their marriage, even if hidden so carefully, nagging vaguely at the back of her mind. She fears what may come to change of it, of them, scared of whether they would become closer to find out things that they never knew and may not be able to cope with; yet at the same time the thought of them going no where left a sour taste in her mouth. Maybe there was nothing left after this, no more declarations of the love he lay nestled inside his walls, ones she had to needle out of him oh so tediously that she had almost given up. But Hange was not one to give up easily, if at all, too persistent and curious to drop something so important and interesting and let all her efforts go to waste; she knew there was more to him, even after the few glimpses of Erwin’s weakness he had offered to her in the late hours of the night, and she would find it, examine it, accept it for all that it was. She would push him to the very limits until he cracked under the weight of his shield, his core bursting open for her, shards flying, and she would accept each tiny piece of shrapnel that would impale her, burn at her skin. But it will hurt, burn like fire and weigh like lead over her shoulders, but how it will hurt will still be her challenge to find out, one that she feels she is following with more reckless abandon than her better judgment.

She doesn’t know what would scar her more; her persistence going to waste over an impenetrable shield, or digging far enough to see that his walls have grown so large they’ve crushed the man he used to be underneath. She could only hope that she had scoured all that she could, although the thought was doubtful.

Why would she care? He had shown her more than he had to anyone else, and maybe there really was nothing left to find. Maybe this new commitment shows that they had gone as far as they could, had shared all that they had to offer with one another, their marriage their secret way of telling one another that they have seen one another in their entirety, and had accepted all of one another without condition; there was no need to doubt their unity anymore.

The thought was bullshit; he had always hid, always had something tucked away in him, a habit of distancing himself that had run itself rampant and forced him into isolation. They both never doubted that their partnership was only unknown to others out of public presentation, never out of shame, but they knew, of course they knew, so why would he still struggle to bury himself to those who he shouldn’t? Why should she feel the obligation to keep pressing him for it when he should be more than willing to show her his vulnerability and humanity in its purest form?

She straightens up in the seat, pulling her jacket onto her lap, wood sliding quietly against wood as she slowly pulls his drawers open. Her hand shuffles through them, sure of his preparedness and meticulousness that she knew she would find what she was looking for. She is rewarded by the feel of cool vinyl against her fingertips, pulling out his sewing kit, unfurling it to reveal rows of needles and pins, spools of white and brown thread nestled neatly into their pockets. She takes out one of the larger needles, threading it with a thin line of brown straight from the spool. She takes her ring off, the skin of her finger feeling too empty with the cold metal’s absence, and slips it into the breast pocket of her jacket.

They were always hiding. She had accepted that truth long ago, swallowed down its bitter taste and still feels it bite at the inside of her stomach. She can hide just as well; it was her lack of choice in the matter that left her such a mess, left her choking down tears as she watches her pocket close shut with each stitch, dotted with the tiniest pinpricks of blood as she forces the needle through the tough leather. 

There’s a creaking sound, bed sheets shuffling over the mattress. Hange’s fingers stop, the needle midway through the stitch, sucking on a bloody fingertip. When she turns around, Erwin is sitting up in bed, hair pointing in all directions, his face dawning the slit eyed expression of a man just rising from sleeping too long.  
She turns back to her work, the sound of the squeaking mattress and floorboards under footsteps falling deaf on her ears. He makes his way up behind her, chin digging into her shoulder as he rests his head by hers, looking down at her handiwork.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling against her neck affectionately, one arm winding around her waist. She leans into his embrace, sniffing back the few stubborn tears that keep persisting in nagging at her eyes, enjoying the rare moment of intimacy while she can. It doesn’t last long, his head lifting from her arm, craning his neck to look at the neat lines of thread keeping her pocket closed.

“I want to keep my ring on me,” she says, her eyes trained on the last stitch, leaving no room for the ring to slip out, “and I don’t want it falling out.”

“You don’t have to keep it in your pocket,” Erwin says, breathing out a laugh. “Let alone sew it shut.”

“Well it’s not like I can wear it now, can I,” she spits. Her teeth bite around the words, no doubt leaving a sting behind, feeling it in his faltering grip. She feels flame grow in her cheeks, hot and red, but she doesn’t say anything, letting silence be her apology. Erwin seems to accept it – at least, he knows she was telling the truth, and that the truth were of his doing, and he was avoiding hypocrisy in protesting – his arm winding tighter around her, changing the subject.

“You’re already in your clothes,” he points out. 

“It’s almost morning,” she replies, “just like any other. We have work to do.”

She pulls the last stitch, raising the needle above her head, nothing but a shining glint in front of her before dipping it down to knot it closed. She brings the jacket close to her mouth, her teeth biting of the excess string with a resounding snap, before shrugging the jacket over her shoulders, forcing Erwin off her.

“You’d think you’d want to take some time to relax and spend time together,” Erwin says.

“Oh, I do,” Hange says. She starts to pull her hair back, searching the desk for an elastic. “Unfortunately, it’s not something I can feel happy doing, knowing there is a heaping pile of paperwork and research on my desk to go through. Paperwork you assigned me, I might add.”

“I gave you weeks for that,” Erwin groans. “You’d think you would have most of it done by now.”

“You can’t rush scientific progress,” Hange says. She winces, a finger yanking on a knot in her hair. She winds her hair tie once more, snapping it against her head, letting her ponytail swing off the back of her head. “Which is why I need all the time I can get.”

“It’s the day after our wedding.”

“And some wedding it was,” Hange snorts, smirking. 

“You’re never going to forgive me for it, are you?”

“Probably not,” she says. She starts to make her way to the door, only stopping when Erwin tells her to, finally hearing the dejection in his voice.

She turns to him, watches from the desk as he stands pathetically in his underwear, his head hanging in shame. His face falls, his eyes weighted by a heavy sadness, seeming to pull his hunched shoulders to the floor.

“Erwin?” she says him name quietly, as if unwilling to disturb his mourning, the smallest breeze of the air ready to knock him down.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs weakly. His feet drag across the floor, shuffling closer, his arms outstretched in a meek gesture of affection as he makes his way closer. She startles at first, jumping away surprised, only to lean into his tender embrace, her nose pressed into his shoulder, his muscles tremble so slightly under her own. “I’m sorry I can’t give us the recognition you deserve.”

The words break something in her, her body sinking deeper into his open embrace, the openness and honesty she had been craving to witness and be a part of for so long. He knows her pain, their insecurity bleeding into one another. Neither of them could ever have the privilege of a proper marriage in a proper chapel, the chance to flaunt their love no matter how much it deserved to be. Even this was something dangerous, their putting themselves and their ability to work and carry the burden of the world on the line for a tenuous, human connection. She had known when she had joined the military years ago, while watching the deaths of so many others like her. He had known taking on the role of saving a lost cause. 

They had both known the of the risk and the failure it could bring, but they had pursued anyway, and to know they were still here together in this moment had to mean something great.

“There is no need to apologize,” she murmurs. Her hands reach up to cup his cheeks, faces inches from each other; his eyes are soft, watery, no longer the strong piercing gaze used to intimidate and commandeer, but still staring into her so intimately nonetheless. “It’s not like either of us can help it.

“And tomorrow is Saturday,” she grins. “So we can sleep in all we want, and I can make up for all the lazy morning sex we’ll miss today.”

“You’ll like that?” Erwin asks.

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t.” She watches his face grow brighter, thumbs brushing the apples of his cheeks.

“I love you,” he stutters out. The words make her heart swell, her fingertips trembling. He had said those words more in the last few hours than in the years preceding them, and she still couldn’t tell whether the fact is reassuring or terrifying.

“I love you too,” she says. She leans up, the two exchanging a chaste kiss before she leaves his embrace, her hand trailing behind her in his as she leaves for the door.

“Brush your teeth,” he calls after her, “your morning breath is horrible.”

“I could say the same to you,” she says, smirking at him over her shoulder. She grabs the doorknob, closing the door behind her. “You better get used to it. You’ll be waking up with it in your face a lot more often.”

The air in the hallway is cooler, a comforting kiss to her hot skin. She leans back against the door as it closes behind her, breathes in deeply as she puts herself back together, her mind back into working order, no longer clouded by the intricacies of intimacy. The hallway is dark and dim, dust lining the walls, but she sees light at its end, the sun finally glowing from the windows to wake the rest of them for the day.

She straightens herself, her hand tracing the outline of the ring in her breast pocket as she makes her way down the hallway, head held high to face the day, heart willing to no longer find out where this next step will bring them, but to help choose the path that it will.

**Author's Note:**

> Levi and Mike probably witnessed the wedding. At least they picked out some nice smelling flowers for it.


End file.
